but no sooner had he heard her voice, than his eye brightened, and he
turned as if to seek the reward of his labours from her; and--girl as
she was--he found it in her approving smile. But that smile was of short
duration; for as soon as she had a full view of his face, it passed
away, and, hurrying toward him, she exclaimed, in an anxious tone--"What
ails you, Geordie? What's that on your upper lip, an' your chin?"
"What is't?" repeated the youngster, drawing the back of his hand
across the place alluded to, as if to ascertain if anything was wrong in
that quarter; and then, examining the hand so employed, he
continued--"What is't? It's bluid; but where it comes frae I canna
tell." After a short pause, during which he recollected the opposition
he had met from the door--"It's my nose--it's just my nose," he added,
laughing as he spoke, to free the heart of Nancy from those
apprehensions, the shade of which he saw gathering on her countenance.
"I didna ken the door was steekit afore my nose played crack on the
sneck--and noo it's bluidin."
Sure enough, his nose was bleeding, and had been so ever since he came
in, though unobserved. The attention of the widow and Nancy was
instantly directed to staunch the bleeding: the latter brought the key
from the outer door, and the former placed it between his shoulders,
bathing his temples at the same time with cold water. In a few minutes
the blood ceased to flow, and, after his face had been washed, Nancy's
smile returned.
When they were about to depart, the widow, taking one in each hand, and
drawing them close together, said--"May God bless ye baith, my bonny
bairns! An', in his ain way an' time, He _will_ bless ye; for, when men
and women had forsaken me, an' my heart was sinking in despair, ye have
provided a hame for the widow and the faitherless. May His blessing rest
on ye, an' may He be your friend when ither friends forsake you!"
The _clay-cats_ were made, and carried in, in the manner proposed; the
lum was constructed, and the old barn made as commodious as possible;
and, in a few days after, Elspeth and her two children came to inhabit
it. But though it was only intended for a temporary residence, when a
twelvemonth had passed, she did not leave it. She had made herself
useful in many ways to the farmer, by assisting him with his farm-work;
and, as both felt loath to part, she became a sort of fixture on the
farm of Sunnybraes.
There is still one circumstance connected with her removal, which must
be noticed. Mr. Black, in general, did little to deserve commendation;
but he could not endure the idea of any one becoming more popular than
himself; and, as William Chrighton was warmly praised for his conduct in
this affair, he soon began to regard him with a feeling which was more
akin to deep-rooted hatred than ill-will.
We now pass over a period of six years, during which nothing of
importance occurred--save that those who, at the commencement of this
period, had been mere infants, were now boys and girls; those who had
been boys and girls, were now men and women; and of those who had then
been men and women, many were now in their graves. Nor of those who
remained had a single individual escaped, without having undergone some
change. In some, the gaiety of youth had been exchanged for the
thoughtful expression of maturer years; upon the foreheads of others,
grey hairs were seen where glossy ringlets were wont to wave; the rosy
hue which had once adorned the cheek, was now broken into streaks; and
on brows formerly smooth, the handwriting of care was now visible.
About this time, Sir Patrick Felspar, after being absent for a number of
years, paid a short visit to his tenants. On coming to Sunnybraes, and
expressing himself highly satisfied with William Chrighton's manner of
farming and general management, that individual thought it a favourable
opportunity for introducing Elspeth and her two children to his notice.
The story seemed to affect him, and he immediately proposed taking the
boy into his own service. This proposal was agreed to; and, at his
departure, Sandy Roger accompanied him to London, where we must leave
him.
George Chrighton, though only a schoolboy when we last noticed him, was
now a stout-looking, well-built young man, rather above the middle size,
and, for some time past, he had been his father's only assistant at
Sunnybraes. Nor was the change which had been produced on Nancy Black
less conspicuous. From being a mere girl, in the course of six years she
had become a beautiful maiden, in the last of her teens, and with a
natural modesty, which, though it added greatly to her other charms,
almost unfitted her for the situation she occupied in her father's
household. Of this youthful pair, it was generally surmised in the
neighbourhood, that the attachment which had begun in their school days,
had "grown with their growth, and strengthened with their strength,"
till it had ripened into love.
Such surmises have often been made before, upon occasions where there
was not even the shadow of a foundation for them. But, in the present
instance, the gossips and tattlers were not so far wrong; for the two
were really lovers, though, from the implacable temper of Mr. Black,
they found it necessary to conceal their affection; and, for two years
more, in as far as an open confession is concerned, they did conceal it.
They were not, however, wholly without their "stolen interviews," which,
though "few and far between," with the additional disadvantage of being
_short_, were, in this case, sufficient to keep the flame alive. They
also found means of occasionally exchanging notices of each other upon
_paper_--that _dernier resort_ of all unfortunate lovers.
Catherine Roger, who had hitherto been thought and spoken of as the
_lassie Kate_, was now beginning to expand into the young woman,
and--smitten with her charms, as wise people began to suppose--Andrew
Sharp, one of Mr. Black's farm-servants, had, of late, become rather a
regular visitor at her mother's. At first, he came with a quantity of
worsted, "to see if she would knit a pair of stockings for him;" next,
he "came to see if she would darn the heels of a pair of stockings;"
and, by and by, he sometimes ventured to "come owre, just to speer for
her." While his business was thus, to all appearance, exclusively with
the mother, he frequently found an opportunity of stealing a look at the
daughter, or, more fortunate still, of exchanging a word with her, as if
by the by. It is probable, however, that the former--
"Wi' a woman's wyles, could spy
What made the youth sae bashfu an' sae grave;"
and, whatever her fears might be, there is no reason to doubt that she
was
"Weel pleased to see her bairn respected like the lave."
Andrew, though young, was by no means deficient in shrewdness; he was
naturally of an obliging turn--a quiet conscientious lad--a great
favourite with his young mistress, and he was sometimes made the bearer
of those paper messengers which went between the lovers.
The leases of both farms were now within a year of being out, and both
the farmers had begun to use what interest they could to have them
renewed. As to the success of William Chrighton, those who pretended to
see farther than their neighbours, shook their heads, and seemed
uncertain; but of Mr. Black being successful, no one seemed to entertain
the smallest doubt. Sir Patrick, of late, had left the management of
those matters wholly to his factor, Mr. Goosequill; and, in the esteem
of this individual, Mr. Black now stood deservedly high. Scarcely a
month had been allowed to pass, for the last two years, without a
present of poultry, eggs, butter, or cheese being sent from Nettlebank
to the factor. Upon these occasions, Gilbert was commonly the bearer,
and he always stayed over night, and either drank toddy with the
representative of the laird, or poured flatteries into the ear of Miss
Grizzy, his daughter. At these doings, far-sighted people shook their
heads again, and said that Mr. Black's hens were never sold in a rainy
day, except to serve some purpose, and darkly hinted at the possibility
of his taking both farms.
Shortly after these matters began to be agitated, the old knight died,
and was succeeded by his son, who had always been spoken of on the
estate as the _young laird_. It was further understood that the young
Sir Patrick had been abroad for the last nine months; and, according to
the accounts which were circulated, he was not expected home for several
months to come. This circumstance afforded an excuse to Mr. Goosequill
for declining to renew the lease of Sunnybraes, as he alleged that he
could not do so till he had positive instructions from the young laird
to that effect. At the end of four months, a letter from Sandy Roger
informed his mother that Sir Patrick had returned to London shortly
after his father's death; and, since his return, that he had treated him
with a degree of kindness such as he had never expected to experience
from a master. The game was now up; and the factor, finding that it was
so, despatched the following letter to the laird:--
"SIR,--As you have been graciously pleased to continue that trust
which your much-lamented father was pleased to repose in me--a
trust which, from my knowledge of local affairs, I hope I shall be
able to discharge with honour to myself and advantage to you--and
as the leases of your farms of Nettlebank and Sunnybraes expire at
Martinmas ensuing, I should hold myself wanting in that interest
which I have ever felt for the prosperity of the family, if I did
not acquaint you of the following particulars. William Chrighton,
the present tenant of Sunnybraes, has now made application to have
the lease of that farm renewed; but, as he is a man of no
substance, belongs to the old school, is incapable of conducting
improvements upon an extensive scale, and merely struggles on from
year to year, I have declined to give him any answer till I should
know what was your pleasure thereanent. I have also received an
offer for the said farm from Mr. Black, bearing an advance of rent.
This gentleman is in a thriving way; he has a turn for business,
and everything prospers with him; he has extensive connections,
and, what is of more importance to the present purpose, he has a
son of age to take the management of a farm, who is an excellent
agriculturist. Mr. Black proposes to take both farms--Nettlebank at
the old rent, and the other at an advance; and, if his offers are
accepted, I have no hesitation in saying that he will soon improve
this portion of your estate to a great extent. I would therefore
recommend him to your notice. Hoping that _that_ knowledge of local
affairs which I have acquired from long experience, may still be of
some service to you, I am, Sir, your very humble servant,
"GAVIN GOOSEQUILL."
To this communication, the factor, in due time, received the following
laconic reply:--
"Sir,--I thank you for your friendly advice, and the attention to
my concerns which you manifest; but, as it is my wish that the old
tenants should remain, you may let Messrs. Chrighton and Henderson
have their farms at the old rent, if they choose.--Yours,
"P. FELSPAR."
This entirely disconcerted the schemes of these friends. Mr. Henderson
was the tenant who had been in Nettlebank before Mr. Black; and the
young laird, who had not been in Scotland since he was four years of
age, as yet knew nothing of his having left it. Gavin Goosequill felt
rather at a loss how to proceed; but, recollecting that "in the
multitude of counsellers there is safety," he determined to consult Mr.
Black, and, for this purpose, paid a visit to Nettlebank. What was the
result of this consultation is not exactly known; but, as Mr. Black
shook hands with the factor, and was about to bid him "good night,"
Andrew Sharp, who stood waiting with the horse, heard the latter
say--"Well, I think we have it after all. I shall delay matters as long
as I can, and then write, recommending farther delay; this will give us
time to do something, and, if I am not deceived, both will be yours in
the end."
The oracular words "do something," and "both will be yours," made an
impression on Andrew's mind. When he reflected on the expiration of the
leases, the character of his master, and the surmises which he had
heard, he felt convinced that the first part of the factor's speech had
a reference to the farms, while the last part of it implied some plot,
which was hatching, to forward their schemes. This conviction suggested
the probability that William Chrighton would not be allowed to remain in
Sunnybraes; and, as his removal must be attended with the removal of
Catherine Roger, to he knew not how great a distance, he felt somewhat
spiritless and disconcerted. Time seemed to stand still; and, after
ruminating for a season on the means of averting such a misfortune, he
took a pair of stockings, and, having placed them on the hearthstone of
his bothie--no one being present--he proceeded to pound that part of
them called the _heels_ with the head of the poker. By this means, he
soon produced something very like a worn hole in each; and then, taking
them under his arm, and putting a quantity of worsted into his pocket,
he set off to Sunnybraes to get them darned. When there, as his
"dulness" did not leave him so quickly as he had anticipated, and as he
was, moreover, loath to sit silent in the presence of one whose good
opinion he was so anxious to procure, while Elspeth was darning the
stockings, he told Catherine the whole story--what he had heard the
factor say, and the conclusions and inferences which he had drawn
therefrom--taking care, however, neither to mention his "dulness," nor
the manner in which he had produced the holes in the heels of his
stockings.
"Weel, lassie," said Elspeth when he was gone, "frae what we ken aboot
Mr. Black, the thing's clear enough. He's lookin after Sunnybraes for
his muckle gomeril o' a son; an', if Gavin Goosequill can get it for
him, by hook or by crook, by lies or by true tales, he'll no want it
lang. The hens, an' the jucks, an' the geese, an' the turkeys, that gaed
frae Nettlebank, hae done their _errand_ weel enough, I warrant them;
an' noo we maun try to do oors--at least, we maun _try_--to help them
that hae been helpers to baith you an' me."
"But hoo can we help them, mither?" inquired Catherine, with a look of
surprise--"what can we do?"
"I'll tell ye what we can do, lassie," rejoined her mother; "the young
laird will never hear a word o' truth aboot either his farmers or his
farms. It's easy for Gavin Goosequill to stap his head as fu' o' lies as
it can haud; an', when this is done, it's but saying that the laird
wants Mr. Black to get baith the farms; an' syne, Mr. Chrighton, an' you
an' me too, maun flit. Noo, as your brither, Sandy, is the young laird's
servant, ye maun e'en try if ye can write a letter to him, an' tell him
o' a' this ongaun. Though it's no very weel written, he'll maybe mak oot
to read it; an', if he's no sair changed since he left his mother an'
his hame, _he'll_ tell the laird the truth."
Catherine was ready to comply with her mother's proposal. A letter was
accordingly written; and, after being closed with a piece of shoemakers'
rosin, instead of wax, and supplied with an address by George Chrighton,
it was, on the following day, put in the post-office. In about three
weeks from the date of this letter, though no answer was returned to it,
Mr. Goosequill received the following note from the laird, which appears
to have been an answer to another communication of his.
"DEAR SIR,--I have received yours of the 1st August; and I am now
convinced that the affair requires delay and serious consideration.
I shall endeavour to turn your advice to some account; and, in the
meantime, you need give yourself no farther trouble about the
letting of the farms.--Yours, P. FELSPAR.
"P.S.--You may assure the tenants that neither of them will suffer
injustice at my hands."
Things now appeared favourable; but, as Mr. Goosequill seldom trusted
more to appearances than was necessary, he took an early opportunity of
calling upon William Chrighton, to say that "he believed any farther
application on his part for the farm would be useless, and must only
tend to irritate the laird." He hinted, farther, that, if Sir Patrick
should raise an action against him, he might get heavy damages for the
bad repair in which the steading then was. After having expended a good
deal of learning and law-Latin in illustrating this subject, Mr.
Goosequill concluded, by saying, that, so far as he could judge from his
last communication, and as Sir Patrick was a proud man, and could not
endure to be thwarted in his plans, the best course he could adopt was,
simply, to pay his rent, and quit the farm at Martinmas.
To these proposals the old farmer demurred. "I have always paid my rent
on rent-day," said he; "I have made many improvements upon the farm to
enable me to pay that rent; and for the steading, though I am not bound
to keep it in repair, by building a new barn and cart-sheds, at my own
expense, I have made it worth at least sixty pounds more than it was at
the beginning of the tack. Now," continued he, "I can see no reason the
laird can have for being _irritated_ at me for endeavouring to keep
possession of the farm on which I was born, and on which I have lived
till I am growing an old man."
"You may do as you please," said Mr. Goosequill, gravely--"only I have
warned you; and, if you are determined to persist, you may save yourself
the trouble of writing; for I have Sir Patrick's authority for saying
that he is coming down to Scotland to settle these matters himself."
Having thus counselled, he adjourned to Nettlebank, where he no doubt
counselled more; but through this labyrinth we shall not follow him.
Only Andrew Sharp, who again brought out his horse, heard him say, as he
was about to depart, "Well, I think I have the old scrub for the new
barn, and, in the meantime, Mr. Gilbert, who is really a smart lad, must
try to do a little."
"Fear not for him," rejoined the other; "he knows what he is working
for--Miss Grizzy's fair face is worth wanting an hour's sleep for ony
time."
Many of our readers will still recollect the disastrous harvest of 1817:
October was begun before harvest-work commenced at all; and, after it
did commence, day after day the rain poured down as if the sky had been
an ocean supported by a sieve. It was after an evening of storm and
darkness had succeeded to one of these distressing days, that a stranger
arrived at Nettlebank, and requested lodgings for the night. The servant
girl, who opened the door, said, "She wouldna let him in, but she would
tell her master." Her master accordingly came, and, without ceremony,
told him to begone, for he harboured no wandering vagabonds about his
_town_.
The stranger attempted to plead his ignorance of the country and the
darkness of the night, as excuses for being allowed to remain; but Mr.
Black cut him short, by telling him, in a tone which was distinctly
heard at the farthest corner of the house, to march off, or he would
instantly unchain the house-dog and set loose the terriers, and let them
make a supper of him. Oaths and abusive language followed; but the
stranger did not wait to hear more. He had proceeded as far as the
corner of the garden wall, where a wicket gate communicated with the
front door, and was muttering vengeance to himself, when he was accosted
by Nancy.
"I am sorry," said she, "we cannot give you lodgings for the night--my
father is so passionate; but here is something to help you on your
journey." The stranger seemed unwilling to take the shilling, which she
was attempting to put into his hand. "It is hardly worth your
acceptance," said she; "but it is all I have at present. I cannot tell
how much I feel on your account--exposed as you have been to the rain.
But, as this is no night for a stranger to be abroad in, only come with
me a few steps, till I can procure a guide to conduct you to the next
farm, where you will find shelter."
"The farmer of the next farm may perhaps treat me like the farmer of
this--and what then?" inquired the stranger, whose wrath had not yet
altogether subsided.
"God forbid!" was Nancy's reply; "but he will not--I know he will not."
She then led the way to a low door, through the seams of which light was
visible, and, tapping gently, pronounced the word "Andrew." As soon as
the door was opened--"Here is a stranger," said she, addressing the
young man who acted as porter; "and when I grow richer I will endeavour
to reward you, if you would get your greatcoat and shew him the road; or
rather go with him to Sunnybraes, and tell them he wants lodgings for
the night"--then, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, and drawing
closer as she spoke, she added--"and, if they seem to hesitate, draw
George aside, and tell him I sent you." The lad was hastening to obey
his mistress's orders, when she called after him, "Stay--I had
forgot--bring a greatcoat for him also."
The stranger, who had now caught a full view of her in the light which
issued from the open door, thought he had seldom seen a fairer face or a
finer form, and, wet as he was, he felt a wish to cultivate her
acquaintance by farther conversation; but she gave him no time; for,
almost before the last word was spoken, she disappeared.--"Tell George!"
muttered he, as he listened to her retiring footsteps--"this is
something, however."
At Sunnybraes, Andrew found his young mistress's provisionary clause
altogether unnecessary; for, no sooner had he announced his errand, than
the old farmer rose to make way for the stranger: "Get up, George," said
he to his son; "an' you, Meg," turning to his wife, "lift out owre your
wheel, an' let the poor lad in by to the fire. An' d'ye hear?--if ever
whisky did mortal creature guid, it maun be on a night like this; sae,
though I drink nane mysel, gang ye and gie him a glass."
The stranger was accordingly placed by the fire, and a glass was
brought; but still it was considered that, as he must be drenched to the
skin, a shift of clothes would be necessary. On this proposal being
made, Mrs. Chrighton cast a significant look, first at her son, and then
at her husband:--
"Hoot, woman," cried the latter, interpreting her look, "bring the duds,
an', if ye hae ony fear about them, the lassie Kate can gie ye a help to
wash them, some weety day. An' weety days are like to be owre rife noo,
for ony guid they're doin.--Our guidewife," he continued, addressing
their guest, "has aye been fear'd for infectious diseases since a
beggar-wife brought the fever to the town mair than fourteen years back.
But, though ye had five-and-twenty fevers--ay, fifty o' them--that's no
enough to let you get your death o' cauld wi thae weet claes on; sae ye
maun e'en consent to shift yoursel."
The stranger's language was a strange mixture of the best English and
the broadest Scotch; and this circumstance, after exciting a degree of
surprise in the minds of all, induced the guidwife to make some indirect
inquiries concerning his profession and station in society.
"I've been thinkin ye're no just a here-a-wa man, by your tongue," said
she; "an', if I'm no mista'en, ye've seen better days; for, when I was
bringin butt your wet claes to get them dried, though your bit jacket
an' your breeks were just corduroy, I couldna help noticin that there is
no a bit bonnier linen inowre our door than the sark ye had on."
To these observations it seemed as if the stranger scarce knew how to
reply--he passed his hand across his brow, and was silent for some
seconds. But, on recovering himself, he told them that his name was
Duncan Cowpet--that he had been born in Scotland, but his parents had
removed to England when he was very young--that he had lately been a
traveller for a house in London, but his master being now dead, and
himself out of employment, he had thought of visiting his native
country; he added that, though his dress was rather plain, he was not
destitute of money, and concluded by offering to pay them for the
trouble they had already been at on his account, and also for his
night's lodging.